D&D 10-The Death Ray

by T. H. Lain

  Regdar stepped closer to the dead construct and his eyes settled on the platinum rod still gripped in its remaining hand. That bar was pointed at him when the flash went off—the flash that killed Naull.

  "It's not the behemoth," Regdar muttered, thinking aloud.

  Groaning with pain, and careful not to drop Naull's body, Regdar squatted and slid the platinum rod out of the dead thing's hand. It wasn't easy but he managed to secure the rod in the straps of his pack, against his scabbard.

  The behemoth wasn't the murder weapon, he concluded silently. The behemoth wielded the murder weapon.

  Regdar turned to the ramp again with Naull hanging from his shoulders, and he started climbing. Already her body was growing cold.

  The jumble of structures so far below him confused Vargussel, and it took him a precious few minutes more than he expected to find the slaughterhouse. When it came clear below him, Vargussel dropped from the sky onto the street in front of the dilapidated structure. From above, Vargussel could see that the slaughterhouse was crawling with watchmen. Most were just milling around, waving on the occasional passerby who paused to wonder what they were doing.

  A few of the watchmen took note of the wizard slowly descending from the deep gray sky, drenched in the rain that fell around him. They drew their swords but stepped back, afraid and on guard. One of them, a sergeant, stepped forward and as Vargussel's feet came to rest on the cobblestones, the watchman approached him. The wizard didn't recognize the sergeant but the man seemed to know him. The sergeant sheathed his sword and gave a shallow, fast bow.

  "Are you in command here?" Vargussel asked.

  "No," the sergeant replied. "I mean, no, sir, not really. My men are charged with containing this corner of the building."

  "Do you know who I am?" the wizard asked.

  "Lord Vargussel?" the sergeant replied.

  "Correct," said the wizard, "and I have been sent by the duke with new orders."

  "Sir?" the sergeant asked. "That's not usually the way

  we—"

  "Did you see me fly here, Sergeant?" Vargussel interrupted, letting his impatience show in all its force. "Of course this isn't usual but I was sent as quickly as my spells would carry me because the news is grim indeed."

  "Sir?"

  "The murderer has been found out," Vargussel said, "and he is in the basement of that building, even now carrying out his most heinous crime to date."

  The sergeant smiled dully, and said, "That's fine, sir. Lord Constable Regdar himself is down there already. You don't have to worry about—"

  "I will decide what I worry about, Sergeant," Vargussel snapped, "and the duke will decide what he worries about. What worries us both now is the lord constable himself."

  "Sir?"

  "He is the murderer, son," Vargussel said. "It's Regdar!"

  The sergeant's mouth opened, which only made him look more stupid.

  "Tell the others!" Vargussel shouted, and the sergeant jumped.

  As the watchman relayed the scandalous lie about their lord constable, Vargussel stepped closer to the building. He'd heard something just as the sergeant ran off—wood scraping on stone? When he leaned closer to the stinking ruin, he heard it again.

  It sounded like someone was digging around in there.

  When dust blew into Regdar's lungs, he coughed. When rusty nails scored his flesh, he winced. When splinters nicked his eyes, he blinked. When his muscles protested under a particularly heavy fall of wreckage, he grunted. When Naull's body slipped in his grasp, he held her tighter.

  That's how he dug himself out of the ruin below and into the ruin above.

  Some of his men, whom he only vaguely remembered stationing there, stood around him in a ring. By the looks on their faces, he thought he must actually look like the grave robber he felt like.

  "Help me," Regdar grunted.

  One watchman stepped forward, his sword drawn.

  "Take her," Regdar said.

  The man didn't move.

  "What's wrong with you?" asked Regdar as his feet finally came clear of the rubble.

  "Lord Constable..." the watchman said, but seemed unable to finish.

  The watchmen all looked at each other as if waiting for someone to make the first move.

  Footsteps ground toward him through the ruin. Regdar looked up to see the duke's wizard stomping at him with purpose.

  "Vargussel..." Regdar started, trailing off when his eyes fell on the amulet.

  Swinging from a chain around Vargussel's neck was the same stylized dog with ruby eyes. The sign of the behemoth. The sign of the death ray. The sign of the murderer.

  Regdar's head spun, and his vision went red with rage.

  For the time it took Regdar to gently lay Naull's body on the broken timbers, he let his emotions run wild. Vargussel continued to approach. The watchmen formed a ring around them both but seemed paralyzed with indecision.

  By the time Regdar stood, he'd settled his mind around the imminent fight to the death with the powerful wizard. His mind slipped into trained patterns of matching information to tactics. The wizard stopped several paces away and was waving the watchmen closer, commanding their attention.

  The behemoth had injured Regdar, and his climb through the wreckage of the slaughterhouse only weakened him further. While one part of Regdar wanted to draw his greatsword and hew through the wizard like a farmer reaping wheat, the soldier in him knew he had a few moments to help himself enter the coming contest, if not at an advantage, then with less of a disadvantage. He reached into a pouch at his belt and drew out a cool, steel vial.

  "Hear me, men of the watch!" Vargussel called, his voice echoing in the narrow streets of the Trade Quarter. "I have come on the orders of the duke himself."

  Regdar ignored the lie. Instead, with his hand behind his leg where it was hidden from the wizard's sight, he picked the wax seal off the vial.

  "The murderer has revealed himself!" Vargussel shouted.

  Regdar popped the cork from the vial. Vargussel pointed an accusing finger at him.

  "It is Regdar!" the wizard screeched.

  Regdar downed the potion in a single gulp. A nervous murmur rose from the watchmen and the gathering crowd of onlookers alike.

  Regdar tossed the empty steel vial to the ground. Waves of warmth flowed through him. His pain turned to an itch, then went away. Not all of his considerable injuries were healed by the potion but Regdar felt strong again, and he had two more such vials anyway. He hadn't expected a fight at the top of the ramp or he would have downed at least one before climbing out. He expected to fall into the arms of his own men and rely on his position as lord constable to have his wounds tended to later.

  As Regdar drew his greatsword, Vargussel chanted through a spell, waving his hands over his own body. The wizard burst into flames, and the surrounding watchmen all stepped back, some gasping with surprise or fear. The flames settled into a smoldering blue and orange incandescence that played over the wizard's robes, his face, and his hands. Vargussel's teeth were clenched tightly shut, his eyes narrowed to slits, his face reddened with fury. Regdar was sure his own face mirrored the wizard's.

  The lord constable stepped within a blade's length of the wizard and slashed across the burning man's midsection. The tip of Regdar's blade should have cut Vargussel deeply enough to spill his entrails but it bounced and skittered across flames that had a strange solidity. A flash of white-hot light forced Regdar to close his eyes and step back. Pain blazed across his face. He knew he was burned but didn't care. He heard Vargussel scuffle backward as well.

  Though his face hurt, Regdar opened his eyes and was happy to see that his vision was unimpaired. He wasn't happy to see the wizard's staff descending on him too fast for Regdar to block.

  The staff didn't strike him hard. It would have bounced off his armor with hardly a grunt from Regdar were the staff not enchanted. Tendrils of blue-green lightning played along Regdar's armor and made his shoulder and neck convulse pa
infully. It was startlingly close to the pain he'd felt from the behemoth's lightning, but less intense.

  The wizard swung the staff quickly for a second strike but Regdar was ready. He batted the weapon away with the flat of his sword. A shower of sparks cascaded around the blade and Regdar felt his fingers tingle on the pommel.

  "You die now, Lord Constable," Vargussel sneered.

  Regdar didn't bother replying. Instead, he swept his greatsword in a wide arc, intending to decapitate the wizard and end the fight quickly. Something about the way Vargussel moved toward the blow made Regdar change his mind. At the last possible moment, Regdar twisted the sword in his grip so that it missed the still-smoldering wizard by less than an inch. The spell would have burned him again.

  Regdar stepped back to give himself time to think, and Vargussel did the same. Instead of thinking, though, the wizard cast another spell. Hoping to interrupt it, Regdar stomped in with an overhand hack that crashed down onto the crown of Vargussel's head.

  The blade met resistance for only a split second before the wizard was gone. Regdar heard him laugh with a harsh, scornful sound, and he stepped back again. There were eight Vargussels arrayed before the fighter. The one whose skull Regdar just split open would have been the ninth. The group of Vargussels kept in motion, wandering around each other, identical in every way down to the finest detail.

  "One of them is you," the fighter grumbled.

  All eight of the wizards laughed, and all eight replied, "But which one?"

  "Let's find out," Regdar said.

  The lord constable charged again. The false wizards scattered, stepping in circles to confuse him even as they all cast a spell in perfect harmony. All eight of them pointed to Regdar, and all eight shared the gleam of triumph in their eyes.

  The spell sent cramping pain pounding through Regdar's body. His chest burned when his heart seemed to skip a beat. His vision blurred, then went black, and he stumbled, trying to get suddenly ungainly feet under him. He managed not to fall but could do little else as he rode out the blasts of agonizing torment.

  At the moment he was sure was his last, when he believed he couldn't take another second of the magical abuse, the pain was gone. Regdar drew in a deep breath and forced his eyes to focus on any one of the eight wizards.

  Vargussel and his images had backed off, giving Regdar room to drop dead or giving the wizard room for a spell that would finish him off.

  Regdar could hardly breathe. Facing a host of bad alternatives, he decided to drink another potion. Vargussel wasn't interested in taking Regdar alive, because they obviously both knew who was the real murderer. Why else would Vargussel be there trying to kill him? The wizard couldn't let the lord constable live any more than Regdar could suffer Vargussel breathing air meant for Naull. It was a fight to the death.

  The wizard cast his spell, mimicked perfectly by his seven duplicates, as Regdar ripped the cork off the second vial. He drew it to his lips. The eight Vargussels thrust their hands toward Regdar, and it was as if a giant hand picked up the lord constable and threw him. Regdar saw no hand, felt barely a whisper of pressure against his body, but fly through the air he did.

  The steel vial stayed in his grip but the contents shot out of the container in a stream. Regdar, rather than try to control the way he landed, used every bit of agility he could muster to get his open mouth in front of that healing stream.

  The sweet elixir splashed against his lips. He whirled his tongue to get every drop. He swallowed even as his back slammed into the ground. Regdar held his breath, held down the potion, and lay there squirming as new pain met the potion's healing effects and his body quivered.

  Regdar climbed to his feet, dragging his sword off the ground. The healing effect of the potion made him stronger with every beat of his heart. By the time he stood straight, sword at the ready, he was strong and determined again.

  "That's two healing potions you owe me," Regdar said.

  Vargussel paled momentarily. The flames that licked across his skin were fading away. Regdar couldn't understand the first few words of the wizard's reply, then he realized that Vargussel was casting another spell. Before Regdar could charge, a globe of shimmering light encircled all eight Vargussels, and all eight smiled at him—laughed at him—and started casting again.

  The lord constable charged the wizard but again failed to reach him before the spell took effect. Regdar chose the nearest incarnation of Vargussel and slashed at him but the wizard wasn't where he was supposed to be. At first Regdar assumed he'd dispelled another conjured image but the wizard's laugh was coming from—

  Regdar looked up and saw all eight Vargussels floating in the air above him. The wizard hadn't disappeared, he'd jumped into the air and stayed there. Regdar guessed the wizard was two dozen feet above the ruined building, well out of reach.

  "You were inconvenient, Lord Constable," all eight Vargussels called down to him, "then you became troublesome, then you became costly. Now you're just meat."

  Regdar smiled and sheathed his greatsword in the scabbard on his back. He reached behind him and slipped a hand under his pack.

  "Watchmen!" the wizard screamed. "Kill this man, in the name of the Duke of Koratia!"

  None of the watchmen moved. Regdar drew out a leather satchel that had been strapped under his pack.

  "Is that it?" Vargussel called down. "Is that the weapon you used to kill the heirs of New Koratia?"

  The lord constable opened the satchel and pulled from it what looked like a bundle of sticks—albeit sticks of beautifully carved, stained, and polished wood.

  "What have you got there?" the wizard asked, his eyes narrowing, his head tipped to one side. "What is that?"

  With a flick of his wrist the bundle of sticks snapped out and together to form a sturdy composite bow.

  Vargussel flinched, then smiled, his eight faces occasionally distorting behind the globe of shimmering light.

  Regdar strung the bow, all the while waiting for Vargussel to hurl another spell at him. No spell came. The watchmen stood their ground. It was as if everyone wanted to see Regdar shoot all eight wizards out of the sky, one by one.

  "Weapons," the wizard mused from eight mouths. "Always weapons."

  Regdar slipped a beautifully fletched arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew back the bowstring, aimed, and fired while Vargussel rasped out another spell.

  Regdar's arrow passed Vargussel's lightning bolt like carts on a crowded city thoroughfare. The arrow struck true, and another of the false Vargussels popped away into thin air, leaving only seven.

  The lightning bolt struck true as well but there was only one Regdar. The pain was worse than the construct's lightning, far worse than the wizard's staff. Regdar's body went rigid, and he felt himself lifted off his feet. His hair didn't just stand on end, it twisted and pulled. His armor felt like pans left in a fiery oven, the different pieces clanking against each other as he quaked.

  It lasted less than a second then was gone, leaving only the stench of scalded flesh, burnt hair, and ozone. Regdar's armor creaked and groaned as it cooled and popped back into place.

  Regdar drew a second arrow.

  "Go ahead," the wizard chided, "stand there."

  Regdar nocked the arrow, pulled back the bowstring, and aimed. The images had pulled a wand from under their robes, and seven sticks of crimson gold were leveled at Regdar. He fired, and so did Vargussel.

  It was a line of roiling orange flame, drawn together by some arcane force, that flowed at Regdar from seven identical wands. Having loosed his arrow, Regdar was able to turn, hunch his shoulders, and let the fire pour over his armored back. The heat burned him, the fire blistered his skin, the pain weakened him—but he didn't fall.

  He turned, and only six Vargussels remained.

  All were pointing the wand at him again.

  Regdar consciously decided to jump when he was already in midair, halfway between where he'd been standing and anywhere else within jumping distance.
>
  Fire poured down onto that spot from the floating wizard, setting the rotting timbers on fire. The damp wood smoldered, giving off an odorous, greasy smoke. Regdar looked quickly around and saw the leaning remnant of a wall. It wasn't much but any cover was better than nothing, when he was already burned, cut, shocked, bruised, and bleeding. He needed a moment to think.

  Regdar stood and ran, sometimes skipping, sometimes leaping over jumbled piles of debris. He had to make a nerve-racking detour but he passed close enough to Naull's body to scoop the corpse up in one hand and continue.

  Another wave of magical fire rumbled behind him, sending up more black smoke that Regdar hoped might conceal him from the wizard's wrath. He felt the heat on his back but managed to outrun the flame. At last he hopped behind the wall and cringed, expecting another blast of fire, but it didn't come.

  "Run, Regdar!" Vargussel shrieked, his voice echoing over the ruin with the six-part harmony of the conjured images. "Prove your guilt for all to see! Take that last victim and run!"

  Ignoring the ranting wizard, Regdar pulled the last of the steel vials from his pack, peeled off the sealing wax, popped the cork, and downed the sweet contents before he could talk himself out of it. The burns were too painful, and he could feel that the lightning had damaged something inside his gut. He had no choice. He would just have to be smarter.

  "What's the matter, Vargussel?" Regdar called back to the wizard. "Did I upset you?"

  "Silence, murdering dog!" the wizard shot back.

  Regdar drew an arrow and nocked it, then moved a few steps along the wall.

  "That monster must have cost a pretty penny," the lord constable taunted. "Sorry I had to kill it."

  Regdar found a hole big enough to see through, and he scanned the sky for the Vargussels.

  "Bastard!" the wizard shouted, a thin, reedy edge to his voice. "You have no idea what it took to create that masterpiece. You have no idea what it means to build something. You, who kill and kill and kill until that boot-shining moron of a duke hands you the duchy on a silver platter—hands you Maelani like he's selling you a goat."